The Queen's Necklace (4 page)

But Will's mind was awhirl with thoughts of blood and revenge; he was only dimly aware of the pain in his wrist, and he hardly heard what his friend said.

This time, he led the attack with a beat and a straightening of his
arm. Only at the last possible instant did Macquay turn his blade aside.

There followed a rapid series of attacks, parries, and disengages. When Macquay stumbled slightly, Will moved forward in an irresistible lunge, the point of his rapier driving full at his opponent's narrow chest for the third touch. As before, the force of his blade was mysteriously deflected. Yet now he attacked with even greater vigor, forcing Macquay to retreat.

A thunder of dark wings as every raven on the roof of the church rose into the air at once ought to have warned him, but Will was too intent on the duel. So intent, he failed to register the scuffling and shouting which began at the edge of the crowd, followed by an unnatural hush among the spectators. Nor did he heed Pyecroft's shouted warning or the sudden defection of all four seconds. The City Guard had already closed in before Wilrowan realized what was happening.

Two men seized him roughly from behind, while a third twisted the rapier out of his grasp. Between them, the three guardsmen forced Will to the icy ground and held him there, despite his struggles.

“Be damned to you! Don't you know who I am?”

“No, sir. And you have been caught dueling, which you ought to know is strictly forbidden except under warrant from the Lord Lieutenant. If you'll just come along peaceably to Whitcomb Gaol—”

“How the blazes,” raged Will, glancing from one face to another and finding none of them familiar, “do you know that a warrant is lacking? You came in and broke up the fight without even asking. Raw recruits by the look of you, and how Jack Marzden came to let you out on your—”

“Lord Marzden has been out of the city these five days.” The young officer spoke with quiet authority. Though he could hardly be
more than eighteen or nineteen, he looked solid and capable in his scarlet coat. “No warrants have been issued during his absence. And if your duel were legal, I would imagine your friends had remained to say so.”

There was a soft, deadly click in the vicinity of Will's ear; out of the corner of one eye he caught a glimpse of a large horse pistol with brass fittings, clenched in a white-knuckled hand. Abruptly, he ceased to struggle.

“There was no warrant and it might be said that my friends' involvement was—irregular—but the law does not apply to me. I am Wilrowan Krogan-Blackheart, formerly of the City Guard, now Captain of Her Majesty's Guard; as an officer in an elite company I don't require a warrant.”

“Then it's unfortunate, sir, that you are out of uniform, as we have no way of knowing if you are who you say you are. Now if you please—” While the young corporal spoke, Will was raised to his feet and hustled in the direction of Whitcomb Gaol.“—if you'll just come along willingly, you can plead your case to the Lord Lieutenant when he returns.”

Deciding he had no choice, Will permitted them to lead him through the snowy streets, though not without glancing around to see if his friends and his erstwhile opponent were in similar circumstances.

“Consign the lot of you to Eternal Darkness! Where is the man I was fighting? I suspect him of entering the duel with magical protections, which is a far more serious offense than the absence of your damned warrant.”

“That is as may be,” said the youth with the pistol. He handled his weapon in such a nervous, inexperienced way that, just watching him, Will broke into a cold sweat. “Sir Rufus Macquay was able to establish his identity, and because we know him to be an intimate of the king, we allowed him to depart on his own assurance he would
appear before the magistrate in three days time. If you have any complaint, you may accuse him then, sir.”

“If he actually appears, which begins to look doubtful,” said Will under his breath. But resigning himself to the inevitable delay, he spent the rest of the journey to Whitcomb in dark contemplation of the revenge he would eventually take, if and when he finally caught up with Macquay.

L
illiana felt as though she had been travelling for weeks. Her eyes felt dry and gritty, and a dull ache at the small of her back grew steadily worse in spite of the support of her whalebone stays. Leaning back against the black leather seat of the coach, Lili wondered if, by the time she and Aunt Allora finally reached their destination, she would be able to summon sufficient strength of mind and body to bring this arcane treasure hunt to its proper conclusion.

There was a jolt and a thump, followed by smoother going. Much of the light disappeared as the berlin left the dirt road, crossed an ancient iron bridge, and rolled down a cobblestone lane between rows of tall buildings. The horses began to labor up a steep incline.

“Hawkesbridge, I suppose,” Lili said out loud.

And at last
, she added to herself, taking a peek out the window.

“You are weary, Lilliana,” her great-aunt said from the seat facing her.

A little old woman with a very flat bosom and very sharp eyes, Allora still looked surprisingly fresh, exquisitely neat as to her gown, her ribbons, and her laces, her tiny gloved hands folded demurely in her lap. But Lili's aunt was a lady of the old school, and
eighteen hours spent rattling around in the coffinlike coach were not enough to ruffle her composure, or dim her indomitable spirit. Her expression softened ever so slightly as she viewed her great-niece across the carriage.

“Perhaps, my child, it is time to stop and rest and eat a hot meal.”

“No.” Lili leaned back again. Her stomach felt empty and her knees weak; she had not eaten anything since the night before, when Allora produced a wicker hamper from under the seat and they supped on cake, cold beef, and raspberry cordial. Yet she was more troubled now by an odd sense of urgency.

“I would much rather not. I admit that concentrating so hard makes my head ache—but we don't want to risk losing our quarry, just when we seem to be catching up to him.” Her fingers closed around the metal divining rod she held in her lap. It was a curious device: a hollow brass tube enclosing a long needle of magnetized iron, bound by five alternating rings of copper and zinc, with a pyramid-shaped prism fastened at one end. “Only
think
how wearisome if we had to keep going for another day and night.”

As she spoke, the wand moved in her hand and she felt a sudden mental wrench, so sharp and sickening the world turned dark for a moment. Even when her vision cleared, she could hardly focus her eyes, and the pain in her head was so fierce she could scarcely breathe. The crystal prism at the end of the divining rod now indicated an easterly direction.

“Make the coachman stop. We have passed the place and are moving away.”

Aunt Allora used the ivory knob at the end of her walking stick to rap on the roof of the coach. The berlin lurched to a halt. “What shall I tell him?” she said, opening the door.

“Go back to the street or alley we just passed and turn to the right. And tell him—tell him to keep the horses to a slow walk.” Lili rubbed the back of her neck as she spoke.

Allora relayed the instructions and slammed the door shut; the coach lunged forward, heading for some wider place where the coachman could turn the horses. Several minutes later, there was a creaking and a swaying as the berlin turned down the alley.

“Another hundred feet.” Lili closed her eyes, the better to concentrate. The wand was a useful device, so long as nothing obstructed or deflected the magnetic lines of force to which it responded, but it was not so precise as her own native talent, honed by the magicians of the Specularii into a trained sixth sense. “I think—it must be a tavern or something of the sort.”

Aunt Allora gave another sharp tattoo on the roof, and the coach stopped again. “Do you feel strong enough to proceed?”

Lili nodded, then wished she had not; the movement only increased her pain, made her vision blur again. She heard rather than saw the coachman open the door and let down the steps. Slipping the wand between the cushions for safekeeping, she followed Allora out the door, clutching gratefully at the hand of the driver as she stumbled from the narrow step to a patch of frosty ground.

When her vision cleared again, Lili found herself in a filthy alley at the foot of a crooked staircase leading up the side of a tall building. Craning her neck and gazing upward, Lilliana could just make out a ramshackle landing thirty or forty feet above, and a faded sign bearing the indistinct outline of some deep-sea monster and the even less distinct legend:
The Leviathan
.

“Can this possibly be the right place?”

Allora shook out the satin skirts of her biscuit-colored gown, anchored more firmly her flat straw hat. “It is for you to tell me. I was purposely kept ignorant of the scroll's whereabouts, for fear I might influence you.”

Lili sighed. Though the place seemed unlikely, the pull of the ancient hierophantic papyrus was unmistakable. And she knew that if she passed this test, if she proved worthy of the arcane education
which Aunt Allora and her mysterious friends had already invested in her, she might someday be asked to go into places equally daunting all on her own.

“I am certain the scroll is somewhere inside.” Raising the hem of her brown velvet cloak, she began the long climb up the crooked staircase.

She knew that the sudden appearance of two unescorted gentlewomen would cause a commotion inside the tavern; the only way to carry it off was to proceed with as much dignity and authority as she could possibly muster. Arriving breathless, and more than a little apprehensive, at the top of the stairs, she hesitated on the threshold until her pulses stopped hammering and her eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior.

A pair of smokey green lanterns hung from the beamed ceiling; there was an inglenook and a blue gas-fire at the far end of the room. As she had expected, the taproom was crowded and noisy; the air was thick with the odors of pipeweed, raw spirits, and unwashed bodies. Even so, she found it easy to single out one solitary old gentleman—very much in the style of her grandfather's day, with his waist-length white hair, soft black hat, and long full-skirted grey coat—sitting quietly by the fire.

He is the one
, thought Lili. Heedless of the catcalls and obscenities that greeted her entrance, she stepped boldly into the room. Every man in the place turned to watch her progress across the floor, though Lilliana knew there was not much about her to catch and hold the masculine eye. Only a slender figure, more angular than willowy, a head of chestnut curls, and a pale face with a broad forehead, a straight nose, and a pair of quizzical grey eyes.

“I believe, sir, that you have something for me.”

The old gentleman gave her a severe glance. “That hardly seems likely. Indeed, it appears you are in the wrong place entirely. If I were you, madam, I would leave at once and find some more
suitable
location for—whatever assignation brings you here.”

Lili felt herself blushing hotly. “Yet I am convinced I am not mistaken. If you will produce the—object—my friends have entrusted to you, I'll not trouble you further.”

At this, the old gentleman sat up a little straighter on the bench. “Well, perhaps we do have some business. But I can hardly give you the—object—in question here before so many people. It is, as you may well apprehend, of some little value. Will you come up to my room?”

Lili shot Allora a questioning glance, but her great-aunt gave no response. “Naturally, sir, my companion and I will do whatever you think best. Though I think—

“You mistake my meaning. You must accompany me upstairs, leaving your companion behind. What I have with me is for you and you alone.”

Lili experienced a sharp twinge of apprehension. If she had somehow mistaken her man, if she allowed herself to be led into compromising circumstances—

Yet if he meant to test her courage and resolution, she must not fail. “I will do as you say.” And with visions of rape and worse things besides dancing in her head, she followed him across the room, through a narrow doorway, and up another rickety flight of steps. The only light filtered in through a cracked and dingy window near the top of the stairwell.

She kept her head down as she climbed, in case they met anyone on the stairs. Perhaps that was why she scarcely noticed how her escort labored—until he stumbled on the top step and caught at the newel post to keep himself from falling. Then she glanced up and saw how he clutched one hand to his side under the slate-colored coat.

“Are you injured? I have been trained as a healer, sir, and if you have hurt yourself—”

“There is no injury.” The man unbent with an obvious effort. “The pains have been with me since early morning, though not so severe.
I begin to fear, Mrs. Blackheart, that someone has poisoned me.”

Lili felt her heart skip a beat. “Let me help you to your room. Please don't hesitate to lean on me; I am stronger than you might think.”

As he took her arm, she felt the heat of his skin through the sleeve of her gown. “Not poison, I think. You are burning with fever. With your permission, I'd like to examine you.”

The old gentleman nodded weakly. He stopped outside a battered door and produced a large brass key, which Lili slipped into the lock. Still half-supporting him, she guided him into the dim bedchamber on the other side, helped him to lower himself to the sagging bed. Then she ran back down to the taproom to speak with Allora.

“He is fearfully ill, Aunt. We'll need a basin of water—of
clean
water, if you can get it. Also, candles, cloths, paper, pen and ink, and the little basket of simples I left in the coach.” Before Allora had time to answer, Lili was climbing the stairs.

She found her patient sitting on the side of his rusty iron bed, glassy-eyed and panting, as though the pain had increased. She helped him to remove his hat, his coat, his blunt-toed shoes, then urged him to lie back. The bed was damp and smelled musty, but there was no help for that; she doubted there was a warming pan or a pair of clean sheets in the house.